The poem that started as‘An Aubade: to My Favorite Black Dress’

Andrea Passwater

I bought you in the summerof watermelon. The day of eatingan entire yellow watermelonand nothing else. Spitting out the hardseeds, chewing the soft ones outof laziness. Intendingto save half for tomorrow,but slipping. Thinking It’s okaythen: Is it okay? before decidingYes, you are okay, the you being me,the okay being dismissal.

When I was a smalllie I was 24” around the biggestpart of my hips. The lie wasabout my bone structure. Did youknow when your body needsnutrients it can dismantleyour cells? That the skin on your feetwill melt between your bones?In the summer of watermelonI bought all new shoes, noneof which were yellow.

In the summer of watermelon—summer as in four or five yearsof boiled cabbage and an undiagnosedcondition we called poorcirculation, as in the thrill of coldscale mornings beforewater, grey-light linesblinking nine sevenpoint eight—seeing you…

the look of you drapedover my hips, soft & loose,elusive, the way you sharpenedmy shoulders and taperedmy waist. I coveted the bodyyou gave me. Togetherwe were unstoppable, we weremarketable, a billboard sellingwant. Together…we were a colddenial, weren’t we?

Andrea Passwater is a writer and experimental artist based in San Francisco. Her main focus is exploring a wide range of perspectives on single moments in time. She a member of the Action Format art collective and If I Told Napoleon Writers. You can follow her hyperboles on Instagram: @andreapasswater.